


I Can Fix That

by sgtbuckaroobarnes



Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Everyone lives, Holes au, M/M, Murder, Racism, Violence, cuz people are assholes, doesn't mean i think he's an ass that's just how it happened i dont know, i changed the gender of a side character as well to fit the story better, i dont know if that really matters but yeah, i dont know what else, i hope that's all, i took a lot of the beginning right out of the book, i was watching holes and this happened, oh yeah and Steve is the donkey, so it would feel right, some homophobia, the people in town are racist assholes who get what they deserve for the most part, this is the holes AU no one asked for, well all the good people anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8635438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtbuckaroobarnes/pseuds/sgtbuckaroobarnes
Summary: This is literally a Sambucky Holes AU where Bucky is Kate Barlow and Sam is....Sam. And then i took liberties with the ending because i can't kill main characters, so everyone lives, i'm nice like that.





	

One hundred and ten years ago, Green Lake was the largest lake in Texas. The clear cool water shimmered in the sun like an emerald. The shores were lined with peach trees that made spring an especially beautiful time of year, the trees blossoming with pink and rose-colored blossoms. 

There was a picnic every Fourth of July where everyone in town could sing, dance, and play games. Prizes were awarded for best peach pie and peach jam. And every year a special prize was given to Mr. James Barnes for his fabulous spiced peaches. No one else even tried making spiced peaches because they knew they’d never be as good as his.

He’d make them every year, picking bushel upon bushel of peaches preserving them in jars with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and other spices that he kept to himself. The jarred peaches would last all winter. They probably would have lasted longer if they hadn’t been eaten so quickly. 

Mr. Barnes, Bucky to his students, was the town’s only school teacher, he taught in the old one room school house. It was old even then, the roof leaked, the windows wouldn’t open, and the door hung crooked on its hinges. 

He was a wonderful teacher, full of knowledge and energy, his passion for teaching shown in his eyes. The children loved him. And the adults were quite fond of him too.

He taught classes in the evening for the adults. A good deal of the people in town had grown up working on farms and ranches and had little education. He didn’t mind teaching them, that’s what he was there for. Many of the town’s men and woman came to his classes. The number of young woman attending always seemed to outweigh the number of young men, and most of them seemed more interested in the teacher than getting an education.

But an education is all they ever got. 

One such young lady was Charlie “Trout” Walker, folks called her Trout because her feet tended to stink like a pair of dead fish. 

Almost everyone in town expected Mr. Barnes to marry Trout Walker. Her family owned most of the peach trees and all the land on the east side of the lake. Trout often showed up to night classes, but she never paid much attention. She was far too busy talking, bragging about how her daddy owned the lake, and making fun of the other students. 

“You wanna come out on the lake with me on Sunday?” she asked Mr. Barnes one night after class.

“No, thank you.” he said, not looking up from the books he was collecting from the desk tops.

“We got a new boat.” She said. “You don’t even have to row it.”

“Yes, I know.” he said, still not looking at her. 

Everyone in town knew they had a new boat. It was terribly loud and was always followed by a big black cloud of smoke when it made its way over the lake. 

Trout Walker had always gotten everything she ever wanted. She found it very hard to believe that Mr. Barnes had turned down her offer. She watched him putting the books on their shelf for a moment. 

“No one ever says “no” to Trout Walker.” She said, pointing her finger and glaring at the school teacher. Mr. Barnes turned and made his way back to his desk.

“I believe I just did.” said James Barnes.

~***~

There was a doctor in the town of Green Lake, all those years ago. When people got sick they’d go see him. But they’d also go see Sam the onion man. 

“Onions! Sweet, fresh onions!” Sam would call as he and his donkey Steve walked up and down the dirt roads of Green Lake. Steve pulled the cart full of onions.

Sam’s onion field was on the other side of the lake. He’d row across the lake once or twice a week and pick a new batch of onions to fill the cart. Sam had big strong arms, but it would still take him a day to row across the lake and another day for him to return. Most of the time he’d leave Steve in the shed, which was paid for by the Walkers, but other times he’d take Steve on his boat with him. 

Sam claimed Steve was almost 50 years old, which was, and still is, extraordinarily old, for a donkey. 

“He eats nothing but raw onions.” Sam would say, holding a pale white onion between his dark fingers, the small falcon tattoo on his forearm visible just near the roll of his shirt sleeve. 

“It’s nature’s magic vegetable. If a person ate nothing but raw onions, he could live to be two hundred years old.”

Sam himself wasn’t much older than twenty, so nobody was quite sure Steve was as old as he said he was. Because how would he know. But, nobody ever argued with Sam. And whenever they went to see the doctor they went to see Sam too. He’d always give them the same advice.

“Eat plenty of onions.” 

He also had an assortment of onion treatments, he had ointments, lotions, syrups, and pastes. All made out of onion juice and different parts of the onion plants. He had one for asthma. One for warts and pimples. He even had one that was said to cure baldness. 

Doctor Hawthorn didn’t resent Sam. The folks of Green Lake were suspicious and afraid to take chances, so they’d get their regular medicine and then their onion concoctions from Sam. After they got over their illness no one could be sure, not even the good doctor, which of the two treatments had done the trick. 

Doctor Hawthorn was almost completely bald. And in the mornings his head often smelled of onions.

Whenever Bucky bought onions he always bought a few extra and let Steve eat them out of his hand.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asked him one day as he was feeding Steve. “You seem distracted.”

“Oh. It’s just the weather.” said Bucky, sighing softly as he looked up to the sky. “It looks like rain clouds moving in.”

“Me and Steve here, we like the rain.” said Sam, his eyes moving from the sky to the man in front of him. 

“I like the rain fine Sam. It’s just that,” he paused to give Steve a gentle pat, and then looked over at Sam, “the roof leaks.” 

“I can fix that.” Sam said. Bucky chuckled quietly.

“What are you gonna do, fill the holes with your famous onions paste?” he asked, sounding amused. 

“I’m very good with my hands.” Sam said, smirking a little when he saw the red on Bucky’s cheeks. “I built my own boat, if it leaked I’d be in trouble.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from looking at Sam’s strong arms, his firm hands. He gulped and felt his cheeks getting hotter and then nodded.

They made a deal. Sam agreed to fix the roof for six jars of Bucky’s famous spiced peaches.

It took Sam a week to fix the roof. He could only work in the afternoons after school let out, and before night classes began. Sam wasn’t allowed to attend classes at the school because he was a Negro, but they let him fix the building.

Bucky usually stayed in the school house while Sam worked, grading papers and such. They talked as much as they could, yelling things up and down to each other. Bucky was surprised at Sam’s interest in poetry. He’d often read to him when Sam was taking breaks, and he’d find Sam finishing the poems, joining him as he recited them. Every time he could feel his cheeks getting hot once again. Sam just smiled at him, his beautiful eyes shining. 

Bucky was sad when the roof was finished. He sat at his desk with his hands in his lap as he watched Sam walk around the little school house to the door. As soon as Sam saw him he knew something was off.

“Is something wrong.” He asked. Bucky looked up at him and shook his head.

“No. No, you did a wonderful job.” He reassured him, standing and walking away from the desk a bit, his arms wrapped around himself, “it’s just that… the windows don’t open. And the children and I would really love to feel a breeze now and then.”

“I can fix that.” Sam said. 

It was easier to talk to him through the windows. Sam told Bucky all about his secret onion field across the lake. Where “the onions grow year round and the water runs uphill”.

Bucky wasn’t sure he should believe him or not, thought maybe he was just trying to be entertaining, trying to make him smile. Whichever it was Bucky didn’t really care. Sam lit up when he was talking about his onion fields, the dimples on his cheeks from his smile deepening when he laughed. And it did make Bucky smile. 

Sam watched the way he laughed and looked into his lap, shaking his head at Sam’s tales of his onion field, his eyes nearly closed. He thought to himself, if that smile was the last thing he’d ever see on this earth that that would be just fine with him. 

After Sam fixed the window Bucky complained that his desk wobbled.

“I can fix that.” Sam said.

The next time Bucky was buying onions he happened to mention that the door on the school house didn’t hang straight. And Bucky got to spend another afternoon with Sam while he fixed the door.

By the end of the semester Sam had tuned the old school house into a well crafted, perfectly painted, jewel. The folks in town would make a point of walking past it just to brag about how beautiful it was. And everyday Bucky passed though his door that hung straight, or felt a breeze through the window he was reminded of Sam. Sam’s shining smile he had when Bucky occasionally said something funny, the way Sam would sometimes lean closer when Bucky was speaking softly, not wanting to miss anything he said, the way Sam would rub his hand over the wood he was working with to make sure it wasn’t jagged or splintered, taking such care with his work. 

The town’s folk saw a beautiful renovated school house, but all Bucky saw was Sam. He sat at his desk, listening the rain hitting the new roof. The school house was warm and dry. The roof no longer leaking, thanks to Sam. Bucky had shut the windows when he first saw the clouds coming over the mountains. It had been three weeks since Sam fixed the door. And Bucky had been trying to find other things that needed fixing, but everything was perfect, Sam had fixed it all. 

So he sat at desk, listening to the rain, and missing Sam.

“Onion! Sweet, fresh onion!”

The voice rang through Bucky’s ears. He stood up and went to the window and saw Sam, out in the rain, walking Steve up the street. Bucky shook his head. Sam was insane, trying to sell onions in the pouring rain. Bucky watched him walk over to his usual place, tethering Steve to one of the peach trees though he’d never run away. He watched Sam pat Steve, watched him talk to the donkey while standing in the rain, and found he could hear Sam’s voice in his head. He watched him smile down at Steve and he felt his heart break, a tear ran down his face as he headed for the door, nearly at a run and not really caring.

Sam saw him come running out of the school house, his face looking a little frantic. Sam felt his stomach drop. He’d never seen Bucky so full of emotion, except for maybe when he’d been working on the roof and been watching Bucky read a book silently to himself, he’d cried that day, reading that book, and Sam had fallen a little bit in love. Bucky stumbled to a stop a few feet in front of Sam, his chest rising and falling with his labored breathing, his hair clinging to his face in the pouring rain. Sam wanted to reach out and push it behind his ear, but he clenched his fist at his side instead. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Sam asked after a few moments of them just staring at each other in the rain. Sam could see that Bucky’s eyes were a bit red, and he was sure that if it wasn’t raining he’d see tears running down his face. Bucky shook his head slowly.

“No. I’m not okay Sam.” His voice was small, Sam took a step toward him,

“My heart… my heart is breaking.” His voice was shaking, along with the rest of him. Sam took a few more steps and closed the distance between them, taking one of Bucky’s hands and soothing his thumb over the pale skin.

“I can fix that.” Sam said, bringing his hand up to push the strand of wet hair out of Bucky’s face, tucking it behind his ear. Bucky started to smile, air coming out of his nose in a small laugh and Sam pulled him into a gentle kiss. 

The rain came down around them. They were alone out in the street. Alone aside from one Miss Hattie Parker who’d walked to her window to watch the rain just moments before.

She saw them there, in the rain, and whispered to herself “God will punish you”.

~***~

Bucky got up early and went to the school house to get things all arranged for the kids. It was half past eight and no one had shown up yet. He sat at his desk wondering if it was Saturday, and perhaps he’d gotten his days mixed up. It wouldn’t surprise him. His head and his heart were still dizzy from the kiss Sam had given him. He’d never been kissed like that before, so gentle, like he was important, like he meant the world to someone. 

He shook his head to clear it as the door to the school house was kicked in by Trout Walker, who was leading a mob of town’s people into the school.

“What are you-“ Bucky tried to question but was cut off by Trout Walker shouting at the mob.

“There he is, the pervert! Get him!” 

They came after him quickly, foul names spewing from their lips laced with hatred. He tried to run, but was caught easily. He tried to beg, beg them to let him go, just let him leave. He’d leave and never come back. Trout Walker laughed in his face. The last thing he remembered was her telling them to burn the school house down and then they could find the onion picker, and then everything went black. 

The first thing he smells is burning, and then the pain hits. His left arm feels like it's been severed from his body. He snaps awake and he’s standing before he even knows how he got on his feet, then he realizes that his arm is on fire. He grabs his jacket from the back of the desk chair, glad he hadn’t been wearing it, and throws it over his arm to put the fire out. Thankfully it works and he tries to make his way to the door, the room is full of smoke and his eyes are burning and he’s in so much pain he thinks he might pass out again. But he can’t, he has to find Sam. Has to find Sam before…no, he has to find him. He makes it to the door and hears angry screams, he can see a few town’s people watching the school burn. He goes back inside and heads to the back window instead.

The building is full of fire now, he can feel his skin prickling in the heat, he reaches the window and brakes the panes out with his jacket wrapped around his hand. He throws himself through it, tries to roll into the landing and lands on his arm. He bites his lip so he doesn’t scream. Doesn’t want them to hear him and come finish him off. His vision grays at the edges but he shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. He runs off into the dark, his brain screaming Sam’s name over and over.

He finds him by the lake, three men surrounding him, calling him names and kicking him. Bucky stumbles to the back of the cart, walking by Steve on the way there, the donkey is dead on the ground. Bucky feels his heart tighten but keeps going. He grabs the log Sam sometimes uses to free the cart from ruts in the road. He walks behind the men as quietly as he can, sneaks up on them and knocks one of them unconscious with one blow to the head.

The others spin around and lunge at him, he hits one of them on the way down, the guy screams and runs away, the other lands on top of him. Bucky screams at him. He punches and claws and screams. Not knowing if Sam is okay, he’s laying on the ground a few feet away and Bucky can’t tell if he’s alive. He hits the guy in the side of the head and he rolls off. Bucky jumps on top of him and hits him over and over until he stops moving. He keeps screaming.

He rolls to the ground, his arm sending bullets of pain through his body with every movement. He makes it to Sam’s side and sobs at the sight of him. One eye is swollen shut, he’s got a busted lip and cuts all over his face. There are bruises already forming on the skin Bucky can see. There’s blood on his shirt but Bucky doesn’t know if that’s from his face or from a wound he just can’t see. He reaches out to touch him, rests his hands gently on his shoulders, he’s not moving. 

“Sam?” he whispers.

No response. He sobs. Then takes a deep breath.

“Sam. Sam! Wake up! Sam please!” he’s screaming again. Can’t stop it. Knows he sounds hysterical. Can’t stop that either.

He calms himself somehow and rests his head against Sam’s chest, he might as well stay here. Stay here and wait for them to come for them. If Sam’s gonna die here, he’s not gonna leave him. 

“Please get up Sam. I need you to get up. Please please please... Sam.” He mutters against Sam’s blood stained shirt, his body shaking, “Wake up…. Please don’t leave me.”

“I ain’t goin anywhere.” Sam rasps, Bucky feels his breath against the top of his head and looks up at him quickly. He sobs when he sees the not swollen eye looking down at him. He leans forward and kisses Sam’s forehead, then pushes himself to his feet again.

“Come on. We have to go. Right now.” He helps pull Sam up, wrapping his right arm around Sam’s waist. His left arm almost completely useless, will probably be that way for awhile. 

They stumble down the road out of town. They fall a few times, Bucky mostly, his vision going gray and black, Sam catching him each time and bringing him back. If anyone comes after them out here they won’t make it, they can’t run. Bucky says they should stop a few times, he can’t go any further. 

“We have to keep going sweetheart, come on.” Sam whispers to him each time.

Bucky falls again, Sam falls with him this time, his legs too weak to catch him. Sam gets back up almost at once.

“We have to keep going. Come on.” He says to Bucky, like he thinks if he keeps saying it they’ll be okay.

“Why? We aren’t gonna make it. They’re gonna come after us eventually. And they’re gonna kill us Sam. They’re gonna kill us cuz we love each other. So what’s the point?” there are tears running down his face, he can feel them, hot on his face, burning a little more than usual. He takes a shaky breath and looks up at the sky, past Sam. 

“What’s the point?” he asks again, sounding exhausted. Sam kneels next to him, cradles his face and turns Bucky’s face so his eyes are on Sam.

“The point is, we have to try.” He looks at him with his one good eye, his body aching all over.

“Now get up. Come on, we have to keep going sweetheart.” And he pulls Bucky to his feet. And they keep going. For awhile.

Sam hears the cart before Bucky. He’s actually not sure Bucky hears anything at all. Sam walks them a little ways away from the road, and then waits. He sees the lantern but can’t see the face of the man walking with the cart and the horse. It stops right in front of them on the road and a voice says.

“I know you’re there boys. No one saw me leave. I sent them to the other end of town, said I saw you heading that way. You better get up here quick before they realized I was lying.”

The voice belongs to Dr. Hawthorn, and Sam feels relief flood through him. But he looks down the road for a few more minutes before pulling Bucky towards the cart. He goes easily enough, for someone who’s half unconscious. Sam lays him in the back and then Dr. Hawthorn helps him get in himself. He lies on his back next to Bucky, looking up at the sky as the cart starts moving. 

“Why are you helping us?” Bucky asks, startling Sam, he’d thought he’d passed out again. Dr. Hawthorn keeps his eyes on the road but says.

“You boys have never hurt anyone, in fact, you’ve helped nearly everyone in town at one time or another. Now I’m not saying I agree with your life style, but you don’t deserve to be killed over it.” He said matter of factly and then said nothing else. It must have been good enough an answer for Bucky because he didn’t ask any more questions, though Sam thought that was because he may have passed out again. 

Sam watched the stars for a few more minutes and then passed out himself.

He woke up in an old looking cabin. He was lying on the bed, Bucky was sitting on a chair near the window with his shirt off. Dr. Hawthorn was looking at his arm. The skin was burned an angry screaming red from wrist to shoulder. The doctor was dabbing on some kind of salve that smelled horrible while Bucky bit into his crumpled up shirt to stop himself from screaming. Sam tried to sit up and his chest exploded with pain, he saw stars again and then fell back into darkness.

Bucky watched Sam sleep all night. He needed sleep too but that could wait. Dr. Hawthorn had helped all he could, he’d told Bucky how to take care of his arm, and how to take care of anything Sam might need, and then Bucky told him to go back to town, before they got suspicious. So he did. He left with a wave and a sad smile and then he was gone.

They were in the cabin for three days, drifting in and out of consciousness, both of them, alternating. Bucky woke up on the third morning and looked at Sam, his eye wasn’t as swollen anymore, but it was bruised terribly, all of Sam was. He watched Sam open his eyes groggily and look toward Bucky, he tried to smile and then grimaced as his lip split open again. The grimace filled Bucky with rage. He got out of bed. Got his arm cleaned up a bit, and wrapped it like the doc said, then he slipped on the jacket the doctor had left for him. He bit his lip to get through the pain. He walked over to the night stand and took the gun the doc told them was there, Sam sat up in the bed and watched him.

“You going somewhere with that?” he asked with a grimace of pain as he rearranged himself on the bed. Bucky stopped by the door and looked at him.

“I’m going to get us some horses. So we can get away from this god forsaken town.” He tucked the gun in the front of his pants and walked out the door. 

Sam wanted to call after him, tell him they didn’t need horses, they could just walk to the next town and get some there. But he didn’t think he’d listen. He’d been different the last three days. Even with the small amounts of time they were conscious Sam could tell. He was different. So he let him go out to get horses, and whatever else it was he was after.

~***~

Bucky walked into town that morning unnoticed. He passed a pair of horses tied up and grabbed a long coat that was hanging over one of them as he walked passed, he slipped it on with a grimace and headed for the sheriff station. 

The sheriff was sat behind his desk, his feet up, and whiskey bottle in his hand when Bucky walked in. He didn’t even seem to notice the man until he spoke.

“Long night Sheriff?” Bucky asked, leaning against the back wall, his hands in his pants pocket.

The sheriff squinted at him and then scoffed, taking his feet off the desk but not moving to stand.

“You gotta a lotta nerve comin back here boy.” He slurred. Bucky just cocked his head to the side.

“What’re you starin at huh? What? You wanna kiss me too pretty boy? That it?” he asked, disgust clear in his voice. Bucky laughed, pushed himself off the wall and started toward the sheriff. His steps were slow, his eyes not moving from the man in front of him, he looked like a predator hunting its prey. He stopped with the tips of his boots about an inch from the sheriff’s desk, still chuckling to himself. 

“Ya know what? Yeah. I think maybe I do.” He said, his voice cold. He pulled the gun out and pulled the trigger.

He walked around the desk, dipped his finger in the blood running down the sheriff’s face, and put his finger to his lips, spreading it around like a lady puts on lipstick. Then he bent down and kissed the sheriff on the cheek, leaving a bloody lip print behind. 

He walked out of the sheriff’s station and un-tethered the two horses outside, swinging himself onto one and riding off with them both. 

He’d walked into town that morning unnoticed, he rode out of town the making of an infamous outlaw. 

~***~

He rode back to the cabin to find Sam was standing out front. Looking like he was ready to ride off into the sunset. Bucky hopped off the horse and walked over to him.

“So, what’d you do?” Sam asked. He didn’t sound accusing, just curious. Bucky looked up at him through his lashes.

“I shot the sheriff. And then I kissed him. And then I came back here to get you.” He said. Sam looked at him for a long time. So long that Bucky started to fidget under the scrutiny. 

“You kissed him?” Sam asked, sounding confused. Bucky nodded.

“Yeah. He called me pretty boy and asked if I came back to kiss him too, so I did. I left a bloody lip print on his cheek too.” 

Sam smiled at him.

“What? Why are you smiling about that?” Bucky asked, sounding angry. Sam shook his head and headed toward the horse Bucky brought back for him.

“Nothin, just… leave it to me fall in love with an over dramatic asshole.” Bucky laughed though his nose and walked over to Sam, his boots scuffing in the dirt. He wrapped his hand around Sam’s arm and turned him toward himself.

“Hey…” he looked at Sam for a long moment.

“I love you Sam Wilson.” His voice was quiet, the way Sam remembered it from the school house. He smiled softly at Bucky and stepped forward a bit more, into Bucky’s space. 

“I love you too Bucky Barnes.” He whispered. Bucky smiled and leaned forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Sam’s mouth that wasn’t busted. He whispered ‘I love you’ against the soft skin there before pulling away. Sam smiled at him and Bucky helped him get onto his horse before getting on his own. 

They’d been on the road for awhile when Bucky looked sideways at Sam.

“What?” Sam asked.

“What, what?” asked Bucky, really looking at Sam now.

“I know that look. Just say it. Whatever it is, just get it over with.” 

“Hey, it’s not that bad. Jeez.” 

“Barnes. Just say it.”

“Okay fine... Hey Sam?”

“What Buck?”

Bucky paused and looked at him, his eyes shining. 

“You wanna be outlaws? Me and you?” 

Sam laughed and then grimaced at the pain in his chest, and then chuckled some more when he looked at Bucky again, his blue eyes so bright in the sun. 

“Hell yeah. Let’s be outlaws.” He answered. And Bucky’s laugh in return, his eyes closed, his head tilted back, the way it warmed Sam’s chest. That was worth everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys! If you have any prompts you wanna see with these kids feel free to send them to me over at jeffersonshattricks on tumblr! (I'm about to start posting my prompts on here as a series thingy, cuz i think that will be the easiest way to put them on here....now i've rambled to much, but yeah, if you've got prompts, send 'em in if you wanna!! :D) also this is the first Sambucky fic i ever wrote i think, if i remember right, so like, they might not be as in character as usual. but i hope they are!!!


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